Random Drabbles & such
by koswarg
Summary: Random drabbles, mostly written for challenges around LJ. Featuring...Helga & Phoebe, Helga & Olga, Harold/Patty, Harold/Rhonda, Torvald, Arnold/Helga, Rhonda/Nadine...
1. Little Things

A/N: This one is Helga & Phoebe, with some Arnold/Helga undertones.

* * *

Phoebe couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that Helga had begun to slip away from her.

Perhaps, she thought, it was when Arnold left, and Helga's hope along with it. Not that Helga had ever come across as a hopeful person, really, but at least she'd _cared_ about things back then. Now she just sort of stared vacantly at everything, as if she were watching her life from the outside.

"Here, Helga," Phoebe said, placing the only butterscotch pudding she'd been able to snag onto Helga's tray as she sat down at their usual table. "You can have my pudding."

Helga smiled faintly in response. So faintly, in fact, that most people probably wouldn't have known that she was smiling at all. But Phoebe knew. And she liked to think that the smile was a grateful one.

Phoebe couldn't pinpoint the exact moment that Helga had begun to slip away from her, but she was sure that she would never let her go.


	2. What Are Sisters For?

A/N: Helga & Olga, mostly, with a bit of Arnold in the mix._  
_

* * *

_I'm an idiot_, Helga thought.

She could never understand quite how her mind worked. Why, she asked herself, was she currently staring out into the audience from backstage, hoping to see Big Bob and Miriam in the audience?

It wasn't as though she cared if they came.

Besides, Miriam would probably fall asleep and Big Bob would probably just check his watch every five seconds, she told herself. The two of them _not_ being there was a good thing.

Really.

Arnold suddenly appeared next to her, peeking out of the curtain, as well. Helga spotted Gerald in the front row, giving Arnold an enthusiastic thumbs-up. His grandparents occupied the two seats next to him, smiling in encouragement. Helga sighed and retreated backstage.

"Baby sister!" rang a perfect, sing-song voice. Helga was halfway through a groan when she became enveloped in Olga's (surprisingly strong) embrace.

"Isn't it wonderful? The two of us, spending time together!" she gushed, kissing Helga's cheek and leaving a lipstick mark, which Helga promptly wiped off in disgust. All she could think was, _Who let her in?_

Eventually (after much eye-rolling on Helga's part) she left, and after a moment Helga peeked out of the curtain again, watching as Olga took a seat in the third row.

Just before it was time to go on stage, she noticed that Arnold was looking at her strangely. It took her a moment to realize that he was staring because she'd been smiling the entire time. She hurried to correct the behavior, pasting on her trademark scowl.

"What're you looking at, Football Head?"

Arnold just sighed and shrugged in response. He should've known that any good mood of Helga's would be short-lived.


	3. Worth the Effort

A/N: Harold/Patty this time.

* * *

Harold Berman had spilled lots of things on lots of people.

Lots of girls, as it so happened. It wasn't that he did it _on purpose_--it was just that his usual nervousness while on a date, on top of his natural clumsiness...well, it usually spelled disaster for Harold Berman.

Most of them stormed out, or cried, or just _glared_ as if they'd like nothing better than to thwap him. And some of them--the worst, in his opinion--shouted that they would _never_ be able to get red wine out of their favorite dress, sometimes accompanied by a slap (which Harold didn't think was very fair). Did they think he was _trying_ to ruin their favorite dresses?

And of course, these reactions just made him _more_ nervous, and he usually ended up embarrassing the girl in question to the point that she wouldn't even speak to him for quite some time.

Harold was pleased to discover that Patty was different.

She didn't shout, or tell him that he was an idiot, or make him feel worthless, like the other girls did. Instead, when he started to clean up, she bent down next to him and said, "Here, let me help."

Harold figured that maybe some girls were worth the effort.


	4. The Sounds of Silence

A/N: Harold/Rhonda. Enjoy.

* * *

Harold was loud and obnoxious and, she had to admit, rather annoying. He whined when he didn't get his way, despite the fact that he was a twenty-year-old man (not that you'd know it from the way he acted).

So maybe it was his silence that worried Rhonda when she said what she had to say.

"Harold," she began, her voice cold and distant (she'd perfected this tone over the years), "I...I think we should stop seeing each other."

He didn't respond. _Why_ didn't he respond?

He was supposed to yell, to make a fuss--dammit, he was supposed to get angry! Harold, for all his faults, was never one to take things lying down. (Rhonda often thought that he would never learn to keep his big mouth shut.) So why didn't he protest? Why didn't he say something?

Why wouldn't he even _look_ at her?

It seemed like forever before he responded, "If that's the way you feel."

He sounded so defeated, so very..._un-Harold_ that her throat constricted with guilt. Was she that cruel of a person? She felt the overwhelming need to apologize, to say that she hadn't meant for things to turn out this way (hell, she hadn't even meant for things to _start_), to tell him that he was probably better off without her, anyway.

But all she could say was, "It is," before leaving him there at the bus stop. 


	5. The Unexpected

A/N: Arnold/Helga. Apparently everyone in my Arnold!verse smokes. Except for Arnold, of course...ever the innocent. And Olga, because...well, she's perfect. ;D

* * *

It was like being doused with cold water.

That was the only sensation that even came close to this. He was shocked, his head was spinning...had Helga _really_ just said that she didn't love him anymore?

"Helga, I--what?" he stammered, too confused to think of anything else to say.

"Don't make me say it again, Football Head," she said simply, crushing out her cigarette and heading back to the party.


	6. Choked Up

A/N: Harold/Rhonda. I love this pair. They would drive each other nuts.

* * *

"I won't apologize," he said stubbornly.

Rhonda glared across the table at Harold, chewing her food in what she thought was an intimidating fashion. Harold stared right back at her. Her cheek twitched in annoyance. She hated it when people stood up to her.

"Let me finish," he continued impatiently. He waited for her to interrupt, like she always did. When she didn't (only dabbed her lips delicately with a napkin--he knew better than to think of her as "delicate"), he went on.

"I won't apologize, because if I hadn't done it, you wouldn't be here with me."

Rhonda almost choked on the food she was chewing, but she was refined enough not to show it. She was also smart enough to know not to look up into his eyes; she didn't want him to see the tears that had formed there. 


	7. The Artist

A/N: Torvald-centric. I LOVE Torvald. Sadly, he has gone the way of Stoop Kid. Yay for random minor characters!

* * *

People asked him why he painted. What had inspired a troubled boy like him to become an artist? He told them he didn't know.

The truth was, he did know.

He painted because he couldn't write very well. He painted because math didn't come easy for him, and neither did science. He painted because he wanted to feel like he had something to contribute, something that was uniquely his.

But mostly, he painted because he wanted his mother to be proud of him. 


	8. Brown Paper Sack

A/N: Rhonda and Nadine. :)

* * *

Nadine sits at the end of her lunch table, alone, with her lunch. It's a plain, brown, paper sack, same as every other day. She glances over to where Rhonda's sitting a few tables over, chatting animatedly with a group of seniors. On the table in front of her is her custom-made lunch sack. Nadine isn't sure what it's made of, but she thinks it's silk - or something equally extravagant. The words "Rhonda Wellington Lloyd" are embroidered on the front of it in curly, large print.

Rhonda never sits with her at lunch, Nadine sadly reflects, sighing as she digs out her lunch.

Peanut butter and jelly, plain potato chips, a cup of pudding, and a soda. Same as every other day. Nadine sighs again. Was this really the way things were supposed to be? Was it just her imagination, or was something terribly wrong?

"Aren't we best friends, Rhonda?"

"Of course we are, Nadine," Rhonda responds dismissively, studying her nails. "I'm just expanding my horizons, that's all. Daddy's always saying that it's not what you know, it's who you know. You understand, right?"

She finally looks up at Nadine, smiling that charming smile of hers (the one that makes all the male teachers melt into a puddle of goo). Nadine momentarily forgets that she's hurt (and that there's anyone else in the crowded cafeteria). She somehow manages to summon a smile in return.

"Yeah, I understand," she answers simply. Nadine wonders if Rhonda notices her superficial tone of understanding, but she doubts it.

"Good," Rhonda says, apparently satisfied that she's settled all of Nadine's doubts. "I'll see you later, then. We'll have to get together, okay?"

Nadine nods in response, but Rhonda is already gone.

_Maybe it shouldn't bother me this much_, Nadine thinks, glad that the bathroom is empty as she tries to erase all evidence of crying, _but it does_.

She stares at her reflection in the mirror, disgusted at herself for caring so much about something that had seemed to trivial to Rhonda.

_Maybe that's how it was meant to be_, she thought sadly. _Rhonda and I don't belong together any more than her silken tote belongs with my brown paper sack._


	9. To Meet Once More AU

A/N: I'm not going to pretend like this story makes sense. Because it doesn't. I wrote it a while ago for the AU Arnold/Helga Fanmix over at livejournal. It's supposed to be a pirate!AU. I don't generally do AUs, so this was...interesting. And I realize that the "mystery" in the story isn't really a mystery to anyone but Arnold. x) Oh and let's pretend as though I know anything about 18th century dialogue (as you are about to see, I don't).

* * *

The guards were tense. It was understandable, he thought. This rogue had a reputation; not only for murder and mayhem - something rather commonplace in this region of the world - but for escape.

Arnold slowed as he neared the captive's cell. The guard in front of him fiddled with the keys nervously, dropping them twice before successfully opening the lock.

"Are you certain you'll be alright, sir?" he asked, casting a worried glance towards the figure in the corner. Arnold waved his hand dismissively, gesturing to the guard to leave them alone. The guard didn't look convinced, but retreated nonetheless, closing off the cell and locking it behind him.

"If you need anything, sir-"

"I'll be sure to call," Arnold interrupted. The guard simply nodded; Arnold waited until the sound of his footfalls could no longer be heard before turning toward the back of the cell, where a lone being was perched on a worn-looking bench, head bowed. Arnold wondered if he was sleeping.

He cleared his throat loudly. The man - or boy, really...he looked like a stiff wind might bowl him over - looked up, but said nothing.

"You're to be hanged at noon tomorrow, do you know that?"

The pirate tilted his head, but did not respond.

"Of all the pirates I've arrested, you are by far the least resistant. I marvel that you managed to operate for so long."

The pirate grinned rakishly. "Perhaps this is all part o' my plan," replied a scratchy voice that suggested someone trying to sound much older than he was.

"To wait until the very last moment to make a daring escape?" he asked the pirate, who still had not even bothered to look up. "You do have quite a reputation."

The boy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The too-large hat and unkempt blonde hair obscured most of his face, but Arnold could clearly make out that the boy was still smirking. It disturbed him that the youth wasn't more worried about his current situation.

"I've broke out o' many a cell stronger than this."

"Not under my guard."

"And wot's so special about you, then?"

Arnold noted that the boy's voice had now lost its scratchy quality. He wondered what had caused him to drop his guard.

"I have yet to lose a prisoner."

"You'll lose one tomorrow, if everything goes your way," the boy pointed out, laughing a little. He slapped his leg as he did so, and Arnold couldn't help but think that the gesture - combined with the boy's slouching posture - distinctly reminded him of something. But he couldn't remember what.

"There's still time. To repent."

The boy tilted his chin upward, and Arnold thought for a moment that he was going to make eye contact. Arnold was disappointed when he didn't. He found that curious.

"No need to be so serious," the boy responded. "Wot do you care what 'appens to me?"

"I care," Arnold answered, and it was true. Many called him naïve, but he had never believed that evil deeds made an evil man.

"About someone you've never met?" the lad asked, tone suggesting that he already knew the answer.

"Of course."

The boy grinned even wider, if it was possible. "I never did understand that," he said, pushing his hat back to reveal his eyes - his _blue_ eyes. Familiar blue eyes.

"Helga?" Arnold sputtered in disbelief.

"I always thought you were strange," she continued, ignoring his outburst.

"_You're_ John the Englishman?"

"The very same," she said, removing her hat altogether and placing it on the bench next to her. "Surprised?"

Arnold removed his own cap, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair as he regarded the woman in front of him, whom he hadn't seen - hadn't _thought_ he'd seen, anyway - in well over a decade.

"It explains quite a bit, as a matter of fact. How you could be so successful and not look a day over the age of sixteen, for instance."

She smiled at that. "It does make some fellows quite angry to be bested by a teenager," she responded. "I'm sure it would make them even angrier to know I was a woman."

"You sound proud of what you've done," Arnold said, frowning in disapproval. Helga looked away from him.

"How else did you think I would turn out, considering..."

"I thought you were better."

Helga gritted her teeth. "Well, I'm not," she snapped, crossing her arms. "You really are naïve."

"And _you_ are going to die tomorrow."

"Just another day," she said flatly. Arnold sighed as he moved closer, settling down next to her.

"If you cared more about your own life..."

Helga looked at him, brushing her uneven bangs out of her face. "It doesn't matter."

"It does!" Arnold shouted back. Next to him, Helga jumped, apparently astonished at the force of his response.

"I apologize for my outburst," he said. She shrugged. "You should have let me help you..."

"Would you help me now, Arnold?" she asked, and he shivered a little at the sound of his name on her lips. "Would you rescue me from certain death?" she continued, leaning into him. He struggled to control his ragged breath as he responded.

"My duty-"

"That's what I thought," she interrupted, scooting away from him suddenly.

"I can't erase the things you've done, Helga."

"I knew you'd never sully your good name. Not for me, not for anyone."

"You're not being fair."

She snorted in disgust. "'Fair'? There's no such thing as 'fair.'"

"Helga, listen to me. If they discover that you are a female-"

"You wouldn't dare," she said ominously, her eyes boring into his. "I would never forgive you."

"It's better than death!" he insisted, hands moving to grip her shoulders.

"Not for me, it isn't!"

"Listen to reason, Helga!"

"I'm being reasonable! I'm a bad person. If I ought to be killed as a man, then I ought to be killed as a woman."

"You're not a bad person," he said quietly, his thumb moving to stroke her neck of its own accord. She stiffened.

"Now you're not being fair," she breathed, drawing a deep breath and pursing her lips. Arnold's hand moved to cup her face. He wondered what made him so bold. "You shouldn't act as though you-"

Arnold chose this moment to pull her towards him and smash his lips against hers, effectively silencing her. Helga's lips parted with no prodding at all, as if she'd been expecting it - as if she'd been _craving_ it.

"You're wrong," he said huskily when they broke apart, his thumb stroking her cheek. "I would do it, to save you."

Helga closed her eyes as if she couldn't bear to look at him a second longer. "I wouldn't want you to," she responded, a single tear spilling down her cheek.

* * *

A/N: The fake accent that Helga puts on is supposed to lessen over the course of the story...not sure I accomplished that. I hope this isn't the strangest thing ever. Ha. It was fun to write.


	10. Next Time

A/N: This is Arnold/Helga. I wrote it as a Christmas fic in 2008. omg I never update. The prompt was Helga/Arnold kiss scene in TJM. Enjoy!

* * *

There was something on Arnold's mind.

There were his parents, obviously, but there was something else, and it distracted him a good deal more than he was willing to admit.

Helga had not been acting like herself.

He attributed it to the change of surroundings, at first. Who _wouldn't_ be a bit thrown off in the thick of the jungle? They may have grown up in a metaphorical jungle, but it was nothing like the real thing.

After they had settled into their new environment (as much as could be expected, anyway), and her behavior still hadn't improved, he asked Phoebe about it. She seemed reluctant to tell him anything, as though doing so would be betraying her best friend. After a bit of wheedling, Arnold discovered that Helga had only been acting differently around _him_, and only him.

They'd recently taken new steps in their relationship, and therefore his first instinct was to attribute her behavior to this new development. But then Phoebe mentioned "regrets," and while she was as vague as she could possibly be on the subject, Arnold knew instantly what the cause of Helga's distress was. 

He cornered Helga soon after his conversation with Phoebe, when he thought they were least likely to be overheard. He had so much to say (to apologize for), but he wasn't quite sure where to begin.

"I've been stupid," was the first thing that came to mind. Helga looked at him curiously, but did not interrupt. "For the longest time, I thought I could pretend that nothing had changed between us."

Realizing what he was referring to, she looked away, cheeks reddening. He pursed his lips in displeasure at her reaction, and continued.

"Whether I wanted it to or not, whether I was ready for it or not, our relationship took on a new direction that day."

Helga knew that there was an unspoken agreement between them not to talk about her confession, and the...event that followed. She panicked slightly, wondering why he was bringing it up now, when things seemed to be going so well between them. She opened her mouth to say something, though she wasn't sure what; an apology, perhaps - anything to settle her mind a little. Seeing her intention, Arnold frowned. "Please, don't say anything just yet," he urged. She closed her mouth compliantly.

"I know we decided to start from the beginning, but I think that was a mistake."

Helga suddenly found it very hard to breathe. She remained still and did her best to show as little emotion as possible, determined to let him finish before reacting.

"It's not fair. What happened that day, it was a turning point for us. I don't want to forget that. And I don't want to forget what we were before, either."

"By ignoring it, I've only made the situation worse." He paused, shoulders slumping in guilt. "For you, especially."

"What do you mean?" she rasped, voice sounding foreign, even to her own ears.

"I don't want you to ever not be yourself, Helga," he responded, looking at her earnestly. "And I guess I should have done this a lot sooner."

He tilted his head up to look at her properly as he stepped closer. Helga found herself unexpectedly lost in green, desperately trying to slow her racing heartbeat before she passed out. She struggled to focus on what he was saying, rather than his close proximity, but that plan was shattered when he placed his palm on her upper arm, wrapping his fingers gently around its circumference. Her breath hitched.

"Better late than never, right?"

Helga barely had time to react before his lips were on hers. All of a sudden, she was experiencing the strangest sensation of her breath being stolen away, but at the same time felt as if she might burst. She wanted to cry from the wonder of it. It was so different, so much better than the first time they'd kissed. No less passionate on her part, but there was something so fulfilling about being on the receiving end this time, about knowing that this was what they _both_ wanted, and not a one-sided show of affection.

"Whoa," came a gravelly, all-too-familiar voice, and Helga nearly cried out in despair as Arnold pulled away abruptly. Forgetting to be embarrassed, she spun towards Gerald, who seemed at a loss for words (for once), placing her clenched fists on her hips and glaring at him menacingly.

"Is there something you _need_?" she asked, stretching out the last word, giving Gerald the impression of an angry lion with its teeth bared.

"Uh," he stuttered, looking to Arnold for assistance. But the boy in question was currently staring at his feet, clearly just as mortified as he was. "It can wait," he said finally. "Catch you later, man." Arnold gave a small nod in response as Gerald practically sprinted away from the small clearing.

Helga turned back to Arnold, who was still staring at the ground and kicking the dirt sheepishly, though he was wearing a small smile.

"Maybe next time," he said, looking up at her at last, "it will finally end the way it should."


	11. Regrets

A/N: I intended this as Rhonda/Harold, but he is never mentioned by name, so I guess it's really Rhonda/?. Nadine is also featured heavily here.

* * *

"Ugh, why do you always have to drag me to this place?" Nadine complains, shrugging off her coat. Her only answer is the elegant sway of Rhonda's hips as she makes her way to the bar. _To the same stool she's occupied for the past eight weeks_, Nadine thinks with annoyance, striding over quickly to settle on the stool next to her.

"Don't you just _love_ the atmosphere of this place?" Rhonda gushes, tapping her nails on the bartop as if she's waiting for something.

Nadine rolls her eyes. She knows the _real_ reason Rhonda likes this place so much, and it sure as hell isn't the atmosphere. Rhonda opens her mouth to say more, but promptly forgets that Nadine exists as soon as the bartender appears from the back room. Nadine sighs heavily, unsurprised, and makes a hurried excuse about needing to use the bathroom as she makes her exit. 

A few hours later, a completely-sober Nadine drags a slightly-tipsy Rhonda to their cab, waiting until the door slams before turning to Rhonda in irritation.

"Rhonda, this has got to stop."

"What has?" she asks innocently.

"I know you only like that guy because he reminds you of-" Rhonda clamps a hand over her mouth before she can finish the thought.

"I like him because he gives me free drinks."

"He wouldn't if you didn't practically throw yourself at him."

Rhonda's easygoing attitude completely vanishes at this accusation. Nadine can feel it in the stiffening of Rhonda's form next to her, can see it as her gaze hardens into a glare. She'd known well that this conversation was bound to do nothing but push Rhonda's buttons, but felt it had to be said nonetheless. Truth be told, she'd expected Rhonda to explode into a defensive tirade at her prodding.

Nadine took it as a good sign when she didn't.

"You should call him."

"No," Rhonda answers, without missing a beat. She turns towards the window suddenly, and Nadine doesn't have to guess why.

"Rhonda..."

"I broke it off. That's that. It's for the best."

"You're allowed to change your mind."

"I haven't."

"I know. You never really wanted to break it off in the first place."

Rhonda turns back again, now apparently unconcerned that Nadine can see the tears she's holding back. Whether they're tears of anger or sorrow, Nadine can't say for sure.

"It was fun while it lasted. But it's better this way. I didn't want to break his heart, okay?"

"More like you didn't want to risk yours," Nadine responds, and Rhonda is so taken aback that her anger is suddenly forgotten, and she's left looking slightly dumbfounded as she struggles for something to say. After a while she gives up trying, and the remainder of the ride to their apartment is spent in a heavy silence.

It takes ages before they finally reach the stoop of their small building, and while Rhonda wrestles with the keys, Nadine quietly says, "Just think about it, okay?"


	12. Don't Be Ridiculous

A/N: How Rhonda and Nadine met!

* * *

Six-year-old Nadine sniffed loudly as she hid behind the dumpster at recess. She wasn't the type to get upset easily, but her first day at her new school had been nothing short of dreadful. Many of her classmates had been teasing her all day about her hairstyle. She just wanted her appearance to reflect her interests...six legs, just like an insect! But apparently bugs didn't excite the same interest in others as they did in her.

Rhonda Wellington Lloyd, who would normally never venture near such an undesirable part of the playground, was drawn there (along with many other students) by the music signaling the Jolly Olly Man's approach.

Nadine hadn't realized that she was being so noisy with her sniffling until Rhonda poked her head around the back of the dumpster. She frowned at Nadine. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded. Nadine only sniffed in response. "Is it those boys making fun of you?"

Nadine buried her face in her arms. "They said I was ugly and my hair was weird," Nadine replied, her voice muffled.

"They're stupid," Rhonda said matter-of-factly. "You're making a statement."

"What's that?" Nadine asked meekly, rubbing the tears from her face as she looked up.

"It means that you're starting something different and cool. A lot of cool trends start off with someone being made fun of."

"Really?"

"That's the way it goes."

"So you've been made fun of, too?"

"Don't be ridiculous."


End file.
